


a seafoam shaded daydream

by englishsummerrain



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, M/M, Mutual Pining, chenle has a nose ring, except for the one steamy makeout scene, jeno has a tongue piercing this is very important, lee jeno has never worn a shirt with sleeves in his life, this is very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23666365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishsummerrain/pseuds/englishsummerrain
Summary: Chenle loves the summer in different stages.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Zhong Chen Le
Comments: 53
Kudos: 264
Collections: nono birthday bash





	a seafoam shaded daydream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eab5c5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eab5c5/gifts).



> hi jewel!! i hope this is something like what you might have wanted!! i know nothing about summer camp so i.. liberally made things up and kind of slapped shit together. if anything feels targeted you can blame lita :D
> 
> thank you so much to hui for doing an incredible job beta reading, as well as organising this. thank u to mandu, too for organising! you're both awesome! mwah! happy birthday to our best boy jeno <3.

Summer is Chenle’s favourite time of the year. He might have been born at the end of autumn, when Shanghai was cooling down and the leaves were all ablaze — but it’s in the sun’s heat he comes alive. It’s in the humid air, soy sauce smeared across his lips, rain threatening at the horizon, oil and exhaust smoke in his nostrils. Wandering around the streets with his mother and aunt, begging them to let him slip into the side shops and bask in their air conditioning while he picks through trinkets. 

It’s in the monsoon downpours hammering on the roof of their house like a thousand shattered plates and under the shelter of the arches of the bamboo grove. The steady drip of the rain after the storm has passed, the fresh smell that comes from the water washing everything away. The worms crawl out of the mud and the breeze is crisp and cool — pollution cleared away, just for a minute or two. He stares out the window of his bedroom as the rain splatters across the glass and he dreams of the water, and he feels alive.

When Chenle is ten, he moves to America.

It’s new and bright and exciting, and he sits on the second floor balcony of their house and waves to the cars passing by. Though it’s the dead of winter when he arrives, the weather is still balmy, the sunsets like a dripping paint palette smeared through the fluffy clouds. He takes pictures on his phone and lies in his bed and thinks about the sound of rain on his roof.

Summer in California is a contrast. It's burning hot — it’s days spent at the beach, in the surf and the sand. Chenle’s been swimming since he could walk — in indoor pools and swimming parks — but to swim in the ocean is something different. The water is like a fistful of salt between his teeth and the waves roar around him, filled with the diamonds of the glittering sunlight. He tumbles with the surf, sand soft between his toes, and swims until his fingers are prunes, running back to the shore for popsicles from his mother. His brother is moody and quiet and takes surf lessons from a guy with shoulder length bleach blonde hair and tattoos that seem to make no sense. His mother asks if Chenle wants to learn too. Chenle says no.

Chenle isn’t interested — not this year, or the next. He just wants to be in the water. He doesn’t want to be told to do — he just wants to be free. He’ll always want to be free — it’s in his blood. 

He falls asleep with the waves crashing in his ear and sand in his bed, wakes up before sunrise and walks along the beach, picking up driftwood and shells that glimmer like iridescent silk. He builds a pile of treasures beside the front door of their bach — a dragon’s hoard of dried out starfishes and sea urchins, of scallops and smooth glass, of pebbles with quartz running through them like veins. His mother asks him what he’s doing with them and he says he doesn’t know. 

When Chenle was six, his uncle came back from Qingdao with a great conch and told him if he held it to his ear he could carry the ocean wherever he went. Every night Chenle would hold it to his ear and listen, the echoing roar of the inside like a thousand waves crashing in his skull. He’d carry it in his school bag and when he was lonely, he’d listen. It wasn’t the Shanghai shoreline that he heard but somewhere far away — a fantasy land where everything was bright and blue and he ran wild in the skies. A comfort to his childish heart.

He left it behind when he moved here, but on this beach Chenle recaptures that feeling again. His hair is streaked with blonde and made stiff and rough by the salt and he turns tan in the sunshine. His mother remarks he's turning into a fish and he thinks perhaps he is — that maybe he'll live in the ocean forever.

  
  
  
  
  


Summers as a teenager are different to summers as a kid. There's a loss of something carefree, the gentle pressure of life beginning to sit on him. There’s growing up. There’s confusion. There’s the way the earth under his feet begins to feel different, how aware of his body he becomes. He’s gangly and awkward and his limbs seem to become longer every day. His voice cracks and rumbles — and he notices other people too. 

He notices boys. The way they laugh. The ways they smile. How when Jisung Park knocks him to the ground in PE his heart stops a little. His heart stops a little — a lot.

Chenle goes to camp the first time when he is thirteen. His mother goes back to Shanghai for the summer, but Chenle likes America. He likes the sunshine and the food — likes eating so much ice cream he's afraid he'll have to go to the ER and so much fast food his fingers become coated in a film. He likes the central coast pines and the sand between his toes — his mother tells him he's an American boy now.

"I'm from Shanghai," he says. She smiles at him, crows feet crinkling. 

"Yes you are.”

Chenle won't ever forget it. The night markets here aren't like they are at home — a dimmed down version, even though the neon lights are just as fierce. Though he loves the sea he misses the river too — he misses catching the ferry under the swarms of lights and riding along The Bund on his trike. America is new and exciting, but his blood is filled with the water of the Huangpu river.

Still — when she offers him the chance to return, he says no. 

The sign at the gate says ten mph, but his mother seems to take it as a suggestion, driving much faster down the gravel road to the camp car park. She pulls out Chenle's suitcase from the trunk and wheels it over the main office while he checks in. Everywhere smells like crushed pine needles, but far off he can hear the crash of the waves.

The cabin is wide and squat, with four bunk beds — all of them occupied save one. The roof is high and everything is built from pinewood, long trunks stripped clean and riddled with knots like spider’s eyes. Chenle picks the bottom bunk and throws his suitcase on the floor.

There’s one other boy in the cabin. He’s thin framed and scraggly, short, with a snaggletooth and a haircut that’s a near perfect bowl shape. Chenle can’t help but point it out, because it’s so ridiculous. The boy stutters profusely and then threatens to beat Chenle with his pillow — and that's how Chenle meets Renjun Huang.

He’s two years older than him — born and raised in the Bay Area. His English is slow and lazy — much the same as his Mandarin — riddled with colloquialisms and curse words. He stands with Chenle in the dinner line and Chenle follows him like a lost duckling, heaping chicken tenders onto his plate and pointedly ignoring the salad bar. They sit down together and who he assumes must be Renjun’s friends start to file in, filling up the ends of the bench. Renjun ignores them, save for hellos, and keeps talking to Chenle until he’s interrupted by the boy sitting on Chenle’s left.

"No Chinese at the dinner table," he says.

Renjun rolls his eyes and raises his fork, miming stabbing. 

Jaemin is the tallest of the group. He has a smile that looks like it belongs on TV and a sharp tongue that’s mostly used to annoy Renjun. He thinks almost everything and everyone is stupid — and he thinks the boy who is apparently due to occupy the bunk above Chenle’s is the stupidest of all of them.

Said boy shows up halfway through dinner and squeezes himself between Chenle and Jaemin, then stands up again when he realises he’d forgotten to get food. Chenle thinks Jaemin might have a point.

“They were out of chicken tenders,” he says when he gets back. Jaemin smirks. 

“You’re late, Jeno. Of course they’re out.”

Jeno sits back down, bumping the table with his knees and apologising profusely to Chenle. “We got stuck in traffic on the I-15. Someone flipped a sixteen wheeler and they were down to one lane coming out of Vegas. There were flames everywhere.”

“Did you take pictures?” Donghyuck asks. He’s sitting on Renjun’s other side and keeps leaning over to try to steal food from his plate.

“It’ll be on the news,” Jeno says. “It was just lots of black smoke and fire. Boring.”

“You missed all the fun AND you didn’t take pictures. You’re the one that’s boring.”

Jeno shrugs. He shoves a mouthful of food into his mouth and turns to Chenle while Renjun and Donghyuck go back to squabbling over something that sounds a lot like football.

Chenle doesn’t think Jeno is stupid. He thinks Jeno is nice. He has a good smile, a mole below his eye and wears circle glasses with one of the arms taped together. His hair is wavy and fluffy and there’s faded cord bracelets on his wrists, different colours like a fist fight in an art store. His tan skin is scattered with freckles and the sleeves have been cut off his shirt, and after he introduces himself he asks Chenle's name — asks where he's from — _hen_ asks if he can have a couple of his chicken tenders. Chenle says yes without even thinking, even going as far to lift up his plate for him.

“Thanks,” Jeno says, stabbing his fork through one and giving Chenle a radiant smile.

“Are you from Las Vegas?” Chenle asks. Jeno shakes his head and makes a hand gesture — _sort of_.

“I _live_ in Las Vegas. But I was born in Hawaii.”

“Woah,” Chenle says. “That’s cool. I didn’t know anyone lived there.”

“What, Hawaii?” Jeno snorts, picking through his dinner. He’s heaped up a bunch of salad on one corner, complete with so much ranch dressing that it’s dripping into his chips.

“Vegas.”

He realises he's only seen it in movies — a glittering sea of neon lights and glitzy casinos filled with the wonders of the world. Scantily clad women and balding men in satin suits with aviators on and one too many buttons undone, gambling their lives away. It’s where you go to get married by Elvis in a chapel at two am. 

“It’s not just the strip,” Jeno laughs. “Lots of people live there. Mostly it’s just a big fuckin’ desert though. It sucks. It’s dry as hell and there’s nothing green except cactuses and shrubs and rich people’s lawns. I miss Hawaii so much.”

“Why did you move?”

“Dad got a job.” He chews slowly on a fry. “Why did you move?”

Chenle shrugs. “Dunno. Mom just said we were moving one day. And we did. My dad’s still back in China.”

“Do you get to see him much?”

“Yeah. A few times a month. Sometimes he’ll stay with us for a bit. Mom’s in Shanghai right now with him.”

“And you’re here?”

Chenle nods. “Yeah. I’m here.”

“Well,” Jeno says. He raises a chicken tender and smiles. “I’m glad you’re here then, Chenle.” 

  
  
  
  
  


Summer is Chenle's favourite time of the year, but with his friends around it's for different reasons. 

Every year is something a little more brilliant. Chenle takes surf lessons (much to his mother's amusement) and comes back to camp ready to go toe to toe with Jeno. Jeno tells him about how he got lost in a casino and had to wait with a security guard while they tried to find his uncle. They build a sandcastle together — Chenle collecting shells to decorate it while Jeno sculpts sloping turrets with his hands and tries to outdo Jaemin in every way possible. On his way back up the shore Chenle ‘slips’ and knocks over the wall Renjun is building while he isn’t looking — he comes back to Jeno hiding laughter behind his hand.

It’s jetskiing across the green lake, it’s knocking a soggy volleyball over a net strung between two buoys coated in pond scum. It’s Jeno — shirtless, sunkissed — throwing his arm around his shoulders and ruffling his hair. Roasting marshmallows beneath the stars, the rustle of the pine needles like whispers. Donghyuck and Renjun fighting during art class, ending up with paint smeared all over their faces, their canvases a mess. Afternoon swims where Chenle races Jeno to the island in the middle of the lake and only loses 70% of the time. They trudge back up the grounds sopping wet and lie on the edge of the basketball court to dry in the sun. There’s a game going on and Chenle watches with lidded eyes as Mark knocks the ball out of Donghyuck's hands. He shoots it through the hoop and Jaemin lets out a whooping cry, pulling his shirt over his head and swinging it around. Jeno’s foot nudges Chenle’s calf and he turns to face him with a smile, the bridge of his nose peeling from perpetual sunburn. 

It's his stomach doing backflips, doing cartwheels. Every time Jeno touches him, every time the two of them jump into the lake together or go running into the ocean. Morning walks along the beach, just them and the waves, just them and the endless blue skies. Year after year after year. 

Chenle grows up. Chenle grows taller. He gets stronger — spends his recess on the basketball court, trying to beat Jisung just this once. He takes up swimming. He doesn't forget about Jeno, but in the months between camp sometimes his memory fades. Sometimes he thinks he must be imagining things, because Jeno feels too good to be true. 

And yet every summer he’s reminded that Jeno is _real_. There’s always that moment when Jeno walks onto the grounds — a bit taller, a bit more handsome, running his hand through his hair — and Chenle’s heart sighs. 

He’s cut his hair, he’s dyed it red, he’s gotten his _tongue pierced_. There’s a new tattoo on his thigh, a sea dragon that shows when his shorts ride up during a volleyball game. The desert has done nothing to the boy that loves the sea — if anything it’s made him stronger.

“You look good, Chenle,” Jeno says. He’s nineteen and Chenle is seventeen. He’s a counsellor now. He looks after the kids the way they used to be looked after. They follow him around, sit on his lap around the fire pit and sing with him. Every time Chenle sees him one of them is bothering him — asking to see his piercing or for him to be on their team for basketball. Jeno tells them it’s not fair when he plays with them and they say it’s not fair when he _doesn’t_ play with them.

“You’re a favourite,” Chenle teases, elbowing him in the ribs as they sit beside each other on a fallen pine log. Another of the kids — one of the ten year olds who had been in Jeno’s surf lesson — had shyly asked for him to come eat dinner with them just before. Jeno had told her to go eat with her friends, that he’d see her tomorrow if she wanted. 

“They just get attached,” Jeno says. “They’ll find someone else to hyperfixate on in a few days and forget about me.”

“They adore you, Jeno.” Chenle reaches over to pinch his bicep. “Everyone adores you.” 

Jeno brushes him off, hiding his face. 

“Don’t tell lies.”

“I’m not lying.”

He’s not. Chenle’s pretty sure there’s not a person on planet Earth that doesn’t like Jeno. There’s something about him that’s just so intrinsically likeable — his pure heart, his laughter, the way he makes sure no-one ever gets left behind. Chenle knows it best of all, maybe. He’s been falling in love with Jeno bit by bit for years, with all the little parts of him that come out in the summer heat. All these fragments of memories that coalesce to form someone that is golden, shimmering and warm. Every time he pulls Chenle close Chenle feels just a little bit safer.

They sit around the campfire that night — only as five. Mark has gone back to Canada and they all miss him more than they can say. Jeno has his guitar and Jaemin keeps telling him to play Wonderwall while Renjun and Donghyuck steal kisses in the shadows. Chenle’s tired of the both of them. They’ve been attached at the mouth since he arrived and it’s not getting better. 

He flicks a stick at Renjun and it catches him in the arm — though where he expects to have to defend himself he’s let down, because Renjun shoots his death glare at Jaemin instead. 

“Don’t be jealous,” he says. Jaemin sneers at him. 

“Why would I be jealous?” he says. “I’d rather be caught dead than be caught kissing Donghyuck, christ.”

There’s a shout and Renjun’s left flip-flop goes flying over Jaemin’s head. It barely even hits the ground before Renjun is on his feet, jumping on Jaemin and shaking his shoulders, yelling about how he’ll beat the shit out of him.

"Did you do that?" Jeno asks, but before Chenle can even answer Renjun has stood up to pick up his shoe. Donghyuck is laughing so hard there're tears in his eyes.

"I plead the fifth," Chenle answers, between hiccups and giggles. Jeno peers at him with a knowing smile, his face maybe a little too close and eyes black in the evening light. The sound dies down, commotion over, Donghyuck choking back his laughter as Renjun mumbles about not being able to see anything.

"Sure," Jeno says with a nod. He strums a starry chord and launches into another song.

  
  
  
  
  


Chenle turns eighteen.

He pierces his nose in January with no chance of hiding it from his mom. He gets a tattoo in February — a black cat, perched on his bicep. He applies for colleges, but he hopes he gets into Jeno's. He goes back to Shanghai in the summer and spends the days in his childhood bedroom and the nights under the neon lights, riding the ferry along the river and biking along The Bund. He sends Jeno pictures of the night markets and the sparkling skyline, of the botanical gardens and the bowls of noodles he chews down at one am, monsoon rain hammering down on the awnings outside.

_i miss you,_ he says. The message is read — stays read for a long time. Chenle's heart beats every time he slides open the chat and then it's answered — three little dots.

A photo. Jeno sitting on the shoreline in the morning sunlight, new tattoo peeking out of the edge of his shirt. His glasses are flecked with sand and there's traces of face paint on his cheeks.

_i miss you too_

  
  
  
  
  


Chenle gets into Jeno's university but he doesn't take it. Instead he stays in Los Angeles, forgoing moving away to drive up the coast on long weekends. They spend the days in town, drinking on Jeno's porch and surfing on the crowded beaches. It's only flashes of days here and there, nights on restaurant balconies and Chenle falling asleep in Jeno's bed. He wakes up to him in the morning and Jeno is sleepy and soft, voice low and rough. He climbs out of bed in only his underwear and Chenle is shameless when it comes to staring, tracing the lines of his surfer's tan and the way his back muscles ripple when he stretches his arms above his head. He turns to ask Chenle if he wants to walk to IHOP for breakfast.

"You gonna put clothes on first?" Chenle asks. He's rolled over on his stomach, legs kicked into the air. He knows Jeno can't see him properly because his glasses are on the bedside, and he takes the opportunity to gawk at Jeno's body — muscles he's dug his fingers into in countless bouts of teasing, the way his waist narrows into the waistband of his shorts. All of his tattoos, a story on his skin.

"Dunno," Jeno says. He cracks his neck and scratches his eye before fumbling for his glasses. “What do you think?”

“Mmm, they might give you a discount. That’s what happens when you’re hot, right?”

“You tell me,” Jeno says. He bends over to pick up a tank top off the floor and pulls it over his head. Chenle laughs. This kind of joking is so easy with Jeno — it always has been — but it never fails to make his heart race. He’s so attuned to Jeno, to all his little smiles, the way he moves, the way he teases. He knows how to push his points, where to press to make him laugh.

Chenle's not stupid. Jaemin might tell him he is, but he isn't. He knows how these things work.

And he knows here — morning light streaming through Jeno’s shitty curtains, air stuffy on his skin while he lies in Jeno’s bed — god, he knows he’s in love.

  
  
  
  
  


It's midnight. The crickets are singing and the stars are so bright Chenle feels like if he looks up for more than a second he'll fall into the sky and swim forever. The waves beat down on the shore and in the silver moonlight Jeno looks alive. He looks stunning — shining, really. Like every part of him has been covered in precious metal, like he's not even real. 

"What're you thinking about?" he asks. Chenle's still looking at him. He's still staring. The grass is dry beneath his palms and there's sand under his nails and he's still staring

"It's beautiful out here," Chenle says. 

"Yeah. Isn't it?"

His face is cast in sharp relief — shadow and light, the stars in his eyes. 

"The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Jeno glances back at him. Chenle's heart beats a thunderous tune, but he feels safe. For some reason he feels safe. He's a reckless kid — always has been, can tell you that from the scars on his skin and all the times he's opened his mouth without thinking — and surely by now he should have said something.

Jeno must know. Chenle hasn't tried to be subtle for years. How is he even supposed to be subtle when it feels like this has begun to consume him? This warmth in his lungs, this skitter of his heart — this part of him that only ever wants to be around Jeno. Jeno who has become the sea, who he wants to carry with him everywhere he goes.

"I like your piercing," Jeno says. It's sudden and for a second Chenle somehow loses his train of thought, completely flabbergasted. "Never thought you'd be the type."

"There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Chenle says. Perfect recovery.

Jeno pokes his tongue out for a second, silver stud glinting, then gives Chenle a grin. “Oh? Like what?”

He could kiss him. He could do it right now. Nothing’s stopping him but himself — but that’s always been the roadblock, hasn’t it? He’s perfectly fine like this, existing in these little moments. These moments which have moved past their summer — past camp and into his real life. Jeno is real, not just a hallucination. He exists in the winter and autumn, amongst the warm spring winds and in the recesses of Chenle’s heart.

Chenle winks. “You’ll find out one day.”

He’s perfectly fine remaining here.

  
  
  
  
  


Jeno is twenty and Chenle is nineteen. Chenle spends winter break on his laptop, playing League of Legends and pretending he’s working on his coding projects. It snows in Las Vegas and Jeno sends him pictures — the tiniest snowflakes fluttering down against the grey skyline. 

_summer can't come soon enough_

  
  
  
  
  


They take the afternoons off together. Sometimes Chenle is tired of the water after supervising six ten year olds hellbent on trying to kill each other with kickboards — but when Jeno is there, floating in the surf with his hair plastered to his forehead and the sunlight haloing behind him — it’s like Chenle forgets that. He’ll always be a child of the sea — of the summer and the waves — and he'll always have water in his soul. 

He dives through the waves, shaking the water from his eyes, chasing Jeno around. Wrapping his arms around him and trying to lift him up, swinging him around in the water. His hands plastered all over Jeno’s chest, his body pressed against his back. Jeno piggybacks him out of the water and Chenle commands him like he’s a jockey, ordering him to climb up the dunes until Jeno bails out and dumps him onto the ground, almost crushing him.

Chenle’s laughing — cackling — sunshine warm, Jeno warm, throwing his head back and shaking out his hair. There’s water dripping everywhere and it fans out when he spins around and climbs on top of Jeno. He pinches both his cheeks, forcing him to talk like a marionette. 

“My name is Jeno and I will not crush Chenle again,” Chenle says, dropping his voice low. “Yes, I will not!”

Jeno laughs — rich and bright — and pushes his hands away with his fingers circled around his wrists. 

He pushes his hands away, but he doesn’t push _Chenle_ away. 

And that’s where the moment hangs. Chenle sitting on top of Jeno, his ass on his thighs, seawater dripping down his back as Jeno stares up at him. He's suddenly aware of his own heartbeat — of the rush of air in his lungs. Of the gulls crying in the distance and the roar of the waves crashing against the sand. 

He doesn’t know what it is. He doesn’t know why he does it. He just knows that he does. That there’s some madcap desire in him — some kind of heat stroke, too much water in his brain. Chenle extracts his hand from Jeno’s grip and Jeno’s arm falls to his side. His breath starts to come shallow, water droplets glistening on his bare chest like jewels, eyes wide. 

Chenle cups Jeno's jaw and rubs his thumb along it, mapping out the shape of the bone and the rough texture of his stubble. He’s so pretty up close, sparkling eyes, so many tiny freckles painted across the surface of his skin. There's sun bleached spots in his hair and his lips are pink and chapped — so close to Chenle he wants to scream.

He doesn't have to scream though. He's right here. He gets to take this for himself — July sun beating down on his back, heart threatening to burst out of his chest. 

"Chenle..." Jeno starts, and Chenle hushes him with a press of his thumb against his lips. It's different from all the times he's shoved his fingers into Jeno's mouth — it's gentle. Subtle. He presses against the pillow of his bottom lip and Jeno lets out a soft sigh, his hips angling towards Chenle's. Eyes fluttering shut.

_Holy shit,_ Chenle has a second to think. _Holy shit, I'm really about to do this._

It's just a second. He doesn't let the thought catch up to him. Chenle is never one to dwell, and he certainly doesn't do it here. It's like he's on a cliff, like he's standing on the outcrop above the edge of the lake. He takes a running leap and _jumps_.

In the sunshine on a blazing Thursday afternoon, sea water drying on his naked back, sand rubbing against his knees and the scent of pine and salt in his nostrils, he kisses Jeno.

Jeno surges up into him in an instant. His body presses up against Chenle's — bare skin on bare skin — and Chenle makes a muffled noise. He groans into it and fists his hand in Jeno's hair. It's not gentle or soft — not like their touches before. It's not a sweet romantic first kiss, it's years of want poured into a single gesture. It's Chenle letting loose — biting on Jeno's bottom lip, pulling him into him. Their noses knock together and Jeno laughs for a split second, before pushing back up into Chenle with renewed fervour. Chenle shuffles up his lap and presses their bodies together and Jeno's mouth opens in response. His tongue piercing is cold and Chenle groans _,_ wanting more, wanting to take it all. Jeno just _goes_ , he grabs Chenle’s arms and pulls him down with him. They hit the ground with a thud but neither of them seem to notice, he just keeps kissing him. His hair falls all over his face and everything tastes like salt, water droplets splattering on Jeno’s forehead — but he’s here. It’s happening. He’s kissing Jeno, and Jeno is kissing him back.

"That tickles," Jeno says, breaking apart for a second and pushing Chenle’s hair from his face. The words are light but the tone is not — it's tinged with a dark edge, one Chenle swallows as he kisses him again. One that he drinks in when he covers Jeno's body with his own, making none too subtle allusions about exactly what his intentions are. Jeno's fingers dig into his back muscles and yeah — Jeno's on board too.

_Holy fucking shit_. 

Chenle's brain short circuits for a second and he pants into Jeno's mouth, pulls away and ducks his head into Jeno's shoulder. He recovers with a bite to his muscle and follows it down, alternating kisses, running his tongue over Jeno's collarbone, tasting the salt on his skin. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, he’s jumping all the laundry list of things he’s wanted to do to Jeno for years but — whatever it is, it’s working. He looks up at Jeno and — oh, _fuck_. Jeno's lips are so pink, his eyes on Chenle, burning straight through him. Chenle flicks his tongue around the edge of the sun inked on Jeno's pectoral and Jeno lets out a whimper.

Should he say something? Should he speak? His brain says no — just keep going, just keep going. He's wanted this for so long and he has it — it's been six fucking years and he has Jeno here, he has the ocean in his mouth.

The choice is made for him.

"Jeno!"

Chenle freezes. The voice isn't close — coming from the main road, no doubt, but even so. It's close _enough_ that Chenle is suddenly aware of how compromising their position is. He's basically dry humping Jeno — they're both shirtless for god's sakes, though that's not really incriminating considering they were both just swimming.

It's enough though. Combined with other things.

"Uh," Chenle says. He pulls back slightly and gives Jeno a look, to which Jeno just laughs.

"Are we Renjun and Donghyuck now?" Jeno asks.

"Good god no," Chenle says. "We haven't stooped that low. We didn't fuck in the arts room."

There's a pause. Jeno tilts his head to the side and raises his eyebrows. He squeezes Chenle’s side, causing him to wince. He might have grown out of a lot of things, but he’s still ticklish.

"Yet?" Jeno asks.

"Jeno!"

Whoever it is getting closer, and a welcome distraction for how much Chenle is starting to get flustered. When he's embarrassed he has a tendency to blush all over his chest and though he's probably sure he can play it off to his mild allergy to salt water (the irony has never been lost on him — the boy who loves the sea so much, allergic to it), he's also sure Jeno knows him well enough to know it's a lie.

Chenle stutters instead and climbs off Jeno, ignoring the implication entirely. "Uh. Should we like. Go back to the beach?"

"It's fine," Jeno says. He doesn’t get up — remains lying on the grass, looking mildly disheveled. Chenle has a belated realisation that he'd bit him _hard —_ he's left an autograph of angry red spots all over his collarbones. It's still — again — nothing worse than Renjun and Donghyuck have done, but that's like saying shaving one eyebrow off is better than shaving both off. Technically yes, practically no.

"You sure?"

"We might be the only counsellors not making out in the woods every night. Trust me."

Chenle brushes a few blades of grass off his shorts and grimaces.

"Jeno! I know you're here! Stop sucking Chenle's dick and — "

"I'm fucking right here!" Jeno snaps. 

The speaker becomes obvious — Jaemin's nasal tone is no longer muted by the boom of the waves. He comes up the slope of the dune and the second his eyes fall on Chenle, his entire face splits into a cheshire cat grin.

"Hello there, Chenle," Jaemin says. "Fancy seeing you here. Taeyong's looking for you. And you too, Jeno! What a coincidence you're together? Isn't that funny? Useful for me, of course. Two for the price of one."

He walks right up to Chenle, throws his arm around his shoulder and pinches his cheek. "Isn’t it great how these things work out, eh?"

" _Isn’t it great how these things work out, eh_ ?" Chenle repeats, scowling. Of course it’s fucking _Jaemin_. 

Jaemin gives him a grin and raises his eyebrows, completely unphased.

Oh, there will be hell to pay.

  
  
  
  


Gossip spreads like wildfire and by the time they're at dinner it feels like everyone else knows. Renjun high fives Chenle when he sits down beside him and asks him if he wants anything extra. Time alone? Does he want to sit out when they play capture the flag tomorrow? You know, so he and Jeno can make out?

Chenle shoves his hand in Renjun's face and Renjun shoves him back, cackling. It devolves into a cat fight, ending with both of them pinching each other’s ears and squealing like pigs, only to be broken up by a very unamused Jaemin.

“Children,” Jaemin says, hitting Renjun on the top of the head with his tray. “Behave for once in your life.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Jeno says. He’s sitting on Chenle’s other side, hand resting against his knee while he shovels pizza into his mouth. There’s sauce on his lips and the hickies on his neck are darkening — a very obvious marker that _something_ has happened. 

Everyone knows Jeno Lee made out with Chenle Zhong — and Chenle feels kind of proud.

  
  
  
  
  


(It turns out, everyone knows Jeno Lee is in love with Chenle Zhong. He’s apparently the last one to get the memo.)

(But hey, he gets to tell the world that Chenle Zhong is in love with Jeno Lee, too.)

  
  
  
  


Chenle is twenty. Jeno is twenty one. Even in winter Las Vegas is warm — not as warm as Los Angeles, but warm enough that Chenle stares longingly at the sweaters he’d packed in his suitcase. He sits with Jeno on High Roller and stares out over the strip, Jeno pointing out all the locations he knows. Far into the distance the lights of the city edge drop off into nothing and the desert begins, the faintest streaks of blue from the fading sun still hanging on the horizon. It feels impossible — this strange city in the middle of hell, survivors of an apocalypse only they got the memo about. He can understand how Jeno might have gone crazy out here — understand why people lose their minds in Vegas. It’s awe inspiring in its insanity — a million neon lights and sleepless souls gambling away their lives.

“Let’s go to Hawaii next,” Chenle says, kissing Jeno on the footpath outside the self proclaimed best barbecue in Las Vegas. His head swims and the cars honk their horns and he swears he can taste the neon lights on his tongue — taste the grease and oil, the sin that drips from the dry desert air.

“What about Shanghai?” 

“Do you want to go?” Chenle asks. 

“I want to go everywhere with you,” Jeno says. He holds his hand out. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Chenle laughs. “No, not at all.”

They hail a cab back to Jeno’s house, back through the golden streetlights and the suburban streets, through the inky night and the lawns going brown under water restrictions. They stand in the kitchen together, Jeno sitting on the counter like an oversized cat, snacking on a Pop Tart and quizzing Chenle about Shanghai. His legs hang down and he kicks them as he talks, bouncing in place until Chenle can’t resist him anymore and kisses him silly, savouring the sweetness on his tongue. 

“I’ll go wherever you go, too,” Chenle says. “Promise you.”

“Promise?” Jeno says. Chenle holds out his pinky and gives it a wiggle. Jeno grins and takes it up.

“Pinky promise,” Chenle says.

It’s him and Jeno, here in this quiet kitchen in the middle of the desert. In Jeno’s bedroom in his shitty student apartment in California. In Chenle’s bedroom in LA. Standing in the departures terminal together, passports in hand, travel pillows around their necks. Amongst the whispering pines with all their friends, around the bonfire roasting marshmallows and listening to their laughter.

Jeno who was always the sea. Always in his heart — wide and impossible. He sees him everywhere he goes — and he’ll be with him wherever he goes. 

In the summer, and then beyond.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading this little love letter to two wonderful boys.
> 
> reveals are here! hello! it was me all along ahaha. you can find my [twitter here](https://twitter.com/dongrenle) and my [cc here](https://curiouscat.me/goldhorn)


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